Camouflage

Kelly's skin was creamy white, her hair was sunny blonde
Mildred's skin and hair looked like the scum upon a pond
They liked to play in a marshy bog in early weeks of May
Not knowing that a half-blind, child-devouring mutant frog was on its way
"I see you!" croaked the frog when Kelly's golden hair swished by
And with a flick of his sticky tongue, he ate her like a fly
"I smell one more," the old toad said, "I'll wait until I spot 'er."
But Mil sat stiller than a weepin' willer, and the slime prince never got 'er.

An Old Lady

There was an old lady who swallowed a fly
Her name was Mrs. Kipper
She doesn't eat bugs, but I strongly advise
You keep her away from your zipper

How The Cat and Cow Got Their Mew and Moo, Respectively

A long time ago, in 1682

The cat said moo and the cow said mew

 “Why do you mew? It’s better to moo!” mooed the cat

And the cow mewed, “Ha! Moo, schmoo!”

“More like mew, schmew!” mooed Cat. “Mew is poo!”

“Ha! Nice comeback!” mewed Cow. “That’s the best you can do?”

“Go milk yourself, Cow!”

“Go lick yourself, Cat!”

“You’re not worth your own cud!”

“You’re not worth your own scat!”

“I bet you can’t moo!”

“I can too! I’m just not in the mewed.”

“You mean not in the mood!”

“That was rude!”

“Oh, mew-hoo!”

“You just mewed!”

“I did not!”

“You did too!”

“Moot point, dude!”

“Mewt point, dude!”

“You mean moot point, you do!”

“Yeah? I’m rubber, you’re glue!”

“Then I’m rubber, you’re glue!”

“Moo!” mooed Cow, making fun of the Cat.

“Mew!” mewed Cat. “How ‘bout that?”

And because Cat and Cow were both rubber and glue

The mew stuck to Cat and to Cow stuck the moo

Which is why cats and cows make the sounds that they do

‘Cause of one barnyard spat in 1682.

Unfair Anatomical Blemish

There once was a very large birthmark that looked

Like a nice pair of womanly breasts

Which was depressing, to say the least,

To the boy with the birth-marked chest

Flashlights Imperfectly Explained

“You mean to say this plastic stick

Produces light? It has no wick!

It’s Triple-what? It’s Triple-A?

That makes this stick light up this way?

Well, what on earth’s a Triple A?

A bat-a-what? What did you say?

A battery? Well, where’s it lurk?

Ah! In the stick! Well, how’s it work?”

“Hm,” you say, “Okay, then, well…

You start with a voltaic cell…

Connected…if I’ve got this right…

By conductive electrolyte…

Then ions, negatively charged,

Go toward the anode, by and large,

And oxidation, so it’s said,

Is when ions’ electrons shed,

But those electrons are not gone,

At cathodes they are added on

And this, somebody has deduced

Is when cations are reduced.

Now each voltaic cell, of course,

Has an electromotive force

And did I mention the existence

Of Thévenin's theorem and internal resistance?

A graph of voltage, resistance, time,

Predictably shows a curving line…

Of course, these batteries of mine

Are one point five volt alkaline…”

“Ah-hem,” I said. “Er-hum. Cough cough.

This jargon’s got me nodding off.”

“Oh,” you said. “Too much to handle.

That’s all right. You take the candle.”

“Thanks,” I said, and shook your hand.

“A candle I can understand.”

But later in my tent that night…

I wondered, How are candles bright?

Fever Times

Mommy, I'm hot, then Mommy, I'm cold
Hot as hell, Ma, cold as mountains
Burning to freezing
From oven to ice 
Chilis to goosebumps
Wolf breath to snow
Pizza to pudding
Parties to tombstones
Innards to igloos
Slobber to marble
Mink coats to t-shirts
Coffee to Coke
Bomb fire to whispers
Snake blood to blizzards
Fat cats to whimpers
Lapdogs to lizards
Teapots to undies
Lasers to lenses
Earmuffs to milkshakes
Stovetops to witch tits
Mukluks to raindrops
Wet sweat to shivers
Feel my forehead!
Campfires to clouds.

The Tale of Poor Barton

I was hippity hopping about through the weeds

When I suddenly noticed I’d lost both my knees

It happened so quickly, it really was odd

Now both of my legs were as straight as a rod

So I walked rather stiffly, militiaman style

It wasn’t so bad, though it took quite a while

Then—would you believe it?—my feet were gone too!

I was left with just ankles to put in my shoes!

The walking was awkward before, but now this!

It was easy to see that my gait was amiss

I cried, thinking how I would flop with the ladies

I looked like a freak from old Barnum and Bailey’s

And then—curse the heavens!—my legs disappeared

I was falling apart; it was worse than I’d feared

I collapsed on my face; it was cause for alarm

But I dragged myself onwards with both of my arms

I tried to stay positive; things could be worse

A wheelchair, at least, ain’t as bad as a hearse

I just had to crawl myself back into town

I’d find myself soon in a hospital gown

Perhaps some bright surgeon (I didn’t know who)

Would fix me right up and I’d be good as new

I spotted my town and I thought, “Yay! At last!”

But right then, my torso sunk into the grass

I was just head and neck, with no body at all

And at this realization I started to squall

“What rubbish! What horror! What lameness!” I cried

“I’d be better off if I’d simply just died!”

I wanted to shoot myself—‘course I could not

You can’t fire a gun if a head’s all you’ve got

I figured I’d wait it out, ‘til I was found

But then the wind started to blow me around

The path was downhill, so I rolled for a while

And was blown back to town, traveling tumbleweed style

When I got there, my mother said, “Barton, you fool!

You’ve lost all your limbs and you’re quite late for school!”

She carried me straight to my class with Miss Hardy

And made me apologize for being tardy

Then came back to fetch me when lessons were through

And questioned Miss Hardy, “Well, how did he do?

He’s naughty, I know. Did he give you much sass?”

“Why, no,” said Miss Hardy. “He’s head of the class.”

Subterranean Serenity

It’s storming it’s raining it’s sleeting it’s hailing

The windows are shaking the wind gusts are wailing

The thunder is roaring the lightning is flashing

The rainclouds are pouring the thunder is crashing

The people are huddled inside, scared as mouses

What will the storm do to their cars and their houses?

They think of the damage; they whimper and pout

Will a tree topple down? Will the power go out?

And meanwhile, all comfy and calm in their holes

Are thousands of underground earthworms and moles

Who don’t have a clue of the storm ‘bove their heads

Or the terrified humans curled up in their beds

No they’re too busy sniffing for bugs they can’t see

Though they’re blind they don’t mind for their lives are storm-free.

Finnegan Boggin

There once was a lumberjack, Finnegan Boggin

Whose lips were so long he could snog his own noggin

But when he was too busy snoggin’ for loggin’

The company boss would give Boggin a floggin’

Lullaby for a Baby Sea Monster

It’s been a long day, little sweet thing

Your jaws are all tired and sore

From playfully nipping at mermaids

And gobbling up crabs near the shore

You capsized a fisherman’s sailboat

And laughed when he called out for help

But then you looked silly yourself, kid

When you got your tail tangled in kelp

You stuck out your tongue at the dolphins

They don’t like you much, to be frank

And I’m sure you annoyed that young diver

When you punctured his oxygen tank

I saw you dismember that lifeguard

You’ve developed a taste for fresh blood

You like to jump out and scare lungfish

After hiding yourself in the mud

I love you, you naughty sea monster

You’re a prankster from birth, so it seems

But hush and sleep well, little sweet thing

Even monsters deserve pleasant dreams.

A Long Poem that is Not a Poem

I am about to move to Hanoi, Vietnam, and the first thing I will do when I get there is take a shot of cobra blood. They have live cobras in cages and then they chop off the cobra's head and pour its blood into a glass and top it off with the cobra heart and then you drink it. And then after a little while I will learn to ride a motorcycle and motorcycle around everywhere, and maybe even motorcycle the whole length of the country just so I could smell the rice paddies. I will also speak Vietnamese really well, because I will work hard at learning it. Of course, I will also make friends and find everything amusing and feel things deeply and be lonely and miss things and take Vietnamese cooking classes and do something entirely unpredictable, like turn into a hippopotamus.

So why am I moving to Vietnam? Question mark, indeed! I really don't know what I'm doing, but no one ever really does. Our cells are constantly being replaced--how are we supposed to keep track of ourselves? Everything is in flux, down to quanta. That is why Buddhists talk about karma, and why we see complex repercussions across time, space and matter. There is no layer in the fabric of universal energy that is static, dead or irrelevant. Even a corpse undergoes changes, and there is no real such thing as death. All fears are useless. And yet...

How weird are dreams? Why don’t we talk about them more? A person goes to bed, spends the night wearing fairy wings and battling giant technicolor robot cabbages and licking their grandma's eyelids, and wakes up to an alarm clock and thinks, "Time to go to work!" How does that happen?

We know that dreams happen as much as real life does, we just don't give them as much credit because they take place in a different state of consciousness. We take for granted and/or deny that we exist in different planes of consciousness, because it's scary to think of our brain as duplicitous. We are only aware of an itty-bitty fraction of what is going around inside and outside of us. We really are moving within this incredibly bizarre, almost science-fictiony kind of stretchy cloth; an all-encompassing, sea monsterish blob of energy fabric that includes literally everything in existence. There are ridiculously complex interactions occurring all the time on infinite levels. Matter cannot be created or destroyed; everything both is a consequence and creates a consequence. This is why we attract what we focus on and why our predictions are self-fulfilling prophecies and why Henry Ford said, "Whether you think you can, or you think you can't--you're right."

Really, what a measly chunk of reality we get--our perception filters out most of it, and it still seems immense! Think what would happen if we were non-filtering and received all of reality at once. Without the happy filter of our perception, infinity would unleash itself upon us like Noah's flood, and the walls of our House of Identity would be blown to smithereens. Maybe we should invent a Normalcy Defibrillator now just in case someone in the future somehow gains access to unfiltered reality and suffers an enlightenment heart attack. But really, who knows what kind of berserk neuron dances would happen if the concept of infinity ever truly dawned on us. I’m guessing we would see that all action is simultaneous, that all beings are limbs of the same being, that we are connected to everything infinitely outward and infinitely inward, that our bodies are far bigger and more encompassing than we think they are (sorry, dieters), and that we are just as much a part of nature as a squid blink or a lemur sneeze. Why do children run around proclaiming, "I'm a tiger!" "I'm a vampire bat!" "I'm a mutant ninja wombat!" Maybe our brains have access to these imaginary modes because humans, tigers, vampire bats, and mutant ninja wombats are all made of the same energy fabric, and we are able to access bizarre, primeval sources of empathy that manifest as games of pretend.

So, House of Identity. We construct identities as we would dwellings. We all understand that sometimes our identities can be "shaken," just like the foundation of a house, and we all trust deeply in our house's ability to protect us. Some of us have identity walls that are flimsy and easily penetrable---we are little piggies who built our houses out of straw. Some of us have standard wooden siding and shingled roofs and picket fences. Some of us have identities made of brick, and the Big Bad Wolf of Infinite Truth will never be able to blow them down, no matter how much it huffs and puffs. So, have you fashioned your Identity House so that it's immune to the Big Bad Wolf of Infinite Truth? Are you a person who “puts up walls”? Be the little pig that built the house out of straw! Identities ("egos" in Zen parlance) are not real existing things, but only protective shields. If I had no identity, I could be easily destroyed. But if I am tightly bound to my identity, I am limited in my vision of the universe. So I must be somewhere in between: strong enough to live in a world of identities, and penetrable enough to let some unfiltered reality seep in.

So what do we do knowing that all things are connected? We bask in the sunshine of nonsense. Surrender to nonsense and you will have surrendered to the universe and to God (and to lobster claws, and to bunny slippers). Surrender involves a delight in absurdity and willingness to enjoy this incomprehensible sea monsterish energy fabric.  We are comforted by the universe because we are stupid children surrounded by forces unfathomably wise, and we are frightened by the universe for the same reason. You cannot possibly learn very much in your short lifetime, but, of course, you ought to try to learn as much as you can, because well, I don't know, do what you want. Remember, though, that real money is monopoly money and girls have pink skin and boys have blue skin just like in the game of Life and Obama is King Kandy of Candyland. The most unfortunate psychological malady is taking oneself too seriously.

Now let’s think about brains that are different from our own. Would you like to be severely schizophrenic for just one day? What are the dreams of someone who is blind from birth? Wouldn't you like to experience someone else's dream--just crawl into their head at night with a bag of buttered popcorn and watch it like you're in the 1930s going to a talkie? What are dreams, anyway? Dreams are weird because they are conglomerations of millions of different memory bits—a reminder that there are infinite possible imaginative scenarios. Every second of life is incredibly rich in information, and scraps of this information is manifested in a powerful way while we sleep.

Back to karma: there is no moment that does not change us in some small way, and perceivable change is only a result of uncountable, imperceptible repercussions. This is why even twins are radically unique. And yet our ability to empathize, and our commonality of imaginary experiences (who hasn't had a dream where they're flying?) reveal the ridiculously heart-warming fact that we are all one, and, its corollary: “all you need is love.” Because any harm we inflict on other people or the earth is actually self-inflicted harm, and the happiest people are the ones who just love, love, love all over the place and never stop loving. "Hey!" say the lovers, "we all share the same bathwater! Let’s make it a bubble bath!" Universally shared bathwater--how's that for intimacy? Maybe bathwater isn't the right word, but neither is turkey vulture or meniscus. And speaking of memory, are we storehouses of chronological experiences? I doubt it, even though it might seem intuitively correct. I can't get over the idea that chronology is sort of a myth that we adopted because it's convenient for survival (just like mental categorization in general: more useful than it is true, although of course it's not entirely false either). I guess I subscribe to the idea that we should not accept even our most intuitive convictions. We are much too accepting of myths. Some myths are the result of evolution and others are the result of societal training—we are contextual beings, in either case. Nothing is self-evident, and our modes of thought have been handed to us by non-authoritative sources--there is no conscious omniscience, anyway. We receive philosophical frameworks with which to operate, and if we're dumb, we never question them. Am I rambling? 

The point is, I'm going to Vietnam, where I will drink cobra blood.

Pills

I went to a psychiatrist

He told me I was nutty

He said thanks to genetics

I had brain cells made of putty

So he gave me lots of pills

And said that they would help me function:

Twenty pills to take with breakfast

Fifty more to take with luncheon

I take pills to help me concentrate

And keep my mind from swimmin’

I take pills that calm my jitters

When I speak to pretty women

I take pills that wake me up

And make my eyes a bit less bleary

I take pills that make me happy

Even when the world is dreary

I need my pills to fall asleep

And though it may seem silly

I need pills to help me harden up

Or soften down my willy

I take pills that help me do my work

And pills that calm my mood

And pills that help me curb

My appetite for certain food

Certain pills help me remember

To take all the pills I take

And if I lost those pills

I'd live a pill-less life by mistake.

A Lawyer's Wonky Ticker

I talked to a woman at work.

She said her dad was a lawyer

so stressed out all the time

that he developed a heart condition.

His metronome, an overworked mule,

driven to exhaustion and madness,

went on a rampage.

He was walking down the boardwalk

No time to notice the seagulls—

his heart sped up, up, up

to 400 beats a minute

and he, a grown-up, a hummingbird,

said, with a gasp:

“It’s doing a funny thing.”

And then collapsed.

The paramedics had to rescue him with a defibrillator—

pressing those powerful toasters to his chest,

zapping his wonky ticker.

He would say later, with a smile, that those toasters felt like being punched

by Muhammad Ali

in the heart.

His hummingbirditis worsened, but he dared not leave the courtroom

For the suit was his identity

And his knowledge of red tape

Earned him a pretty penny.

With his money, he bought a sailboat…a second one…

And of course he feasted on caviar,

though everything he ate tasted like pebbles.

Then his “heart did that funny thing” again

While he was at work.

He decided he didn’t want to be that guy—

That guy at the firm

Who always had to have the paramedics called in.

He asked the doc what his options were

The doc said he could be the proud new owner

of surgically implanted defibrillator.

He looked this up online:

The National Heart, Lung and Blood Institute states

that an implantable cardioverter defibrillator (ICD)

is a device the size of a pager

that is implanted underneath your skin

near the clavicle.

Wires from the device

are attached to your heart.

The device, which runs on batteries,

contains a small computer

and a pulse generator.

The size of a pager, he mused

The size of a cigarette pack

“Okey dokey,” he said casually, “Sew the damn thing in!”

And now, if he hasn’t got a shirt on,

You can see the clear outline of the cigarette pack-sized metal box

Implanted just under his skin.

A high-tech, geometric tumor of the lower collarbone.

A fairly pricey item

in the Oriental Trading Company of cyborg implants.

 “That’s what he wanted,” said the man’s daughter.

“And he didn’t quit his job.

He says the only crazy thing about it

Is that they have a remote control for the ICD

Somewhere at the hospital.

Imagine feeling a fist of lightning punch your heart

Remote-controlled by sadist interns.”  

First Day Teaching First Grade

Why, no, I do not belong to myself!

I am merely a vessel!

Deep in the quicksand of my double helices, there is the kinesthesia of the ancients.

Do you understand, children?

Good. Now repeat after me:

When I howl, it is spontaneous combustion of breath and wolf.

When I travel, it is thanks to the testicles of the Wright brothers.

When I cry, my eyes are the underground railroad for saltwater slaves.

When I run, I have the knees of a centaur and grim reaper speed.

When I am in first grade, I will be quiet and pay attention to my teacher.

If I do not pay attention, I will be sent to time out.

Very good!

Now remember, children, I am an hourglass of blood

but you'll need a stopwatch for anything more precise.

Circus Trick

for my next circus trick, this cracked egg will make itself whole!
this shaved Schnauzer will instantly have its hair back!
this popped balloon will become unpopped!
this hangnail will become unhung!
this chalk drawing will undraw itself!
this monkey with its teeth pulled out will once again have teeth!
this squashed berry will become plump!
this fried sausage will become uncooked!
this decapitated bunny will have back its head! 
this will all occur before your very eyes, ladies and gentlemen, quicker than you can say bob's your uncle!
and what's more, ladies and gentlemen....
it will all happen in reverse!

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

Two little mice in a patched-up boot

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

She-mouse thought He-mouse was cute

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

She-mouse said, “Woncha be my chosen?”

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

He-mouse said, “When hell turns frozen!”

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

She-mouse said, “I’ll buy the rings!”

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

He-mouse said, “When pigs have wings!”

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

She-mouse begged all through the night

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

He-mouse said, “Go fly a kite!”

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

Then He-mouse slept, and under his nose

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

She-mouse robbed him of his clothes!

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

She stuffed the clothes with straw and tin

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

And made a He-mouse mannequin!

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

But He mouse turned as white as paste

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

When he saw that he’d been replaced

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

He said, “Look, She-mouse….hold on…wait..”

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

But She-mouse said, “No, sir! Too late!”

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

Then He-mouse, feeling awful sore

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

Stole a dress from the She-mouse drawer

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

He stuffed it up with old dried fruit

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

And made a She-mouse substitute!

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

“She never nags, my She-mouse clone!”

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

“Who needs a wife of flesh and bone?”

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

She-mouse says, “Golly, this is neat!”

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

“My He-mouse doll won’t ever cheat!”

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

Now both mice live as happy as elves

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot!

Cuddlin’ with the lovers they made themselves

Hootenanny, Hootenanny, Hoot Hoot Hoot.

Monkeyface and Stink Eye Ralph

There was a man named Monkeyface

Who lived in a tiny hut

He had no friends, and spent all day

Counting up the hairs on his butt.

He had a neighbor, Stink Eye Ralph

Whose hut was also tiny

And just like Monkeyface, he counted

Up the hairs on his heinie.

One day, that rascal Stink Eye Ralph

Said, “Come on, Monkeyface!

Let’s tip a cow! Let’s rob a store!

Let’s break a crystal vase!”

So Monkeyface and Stink Eye Ralph

Wreaked havoc on the town

Tipped cows, robbed stores, broke vases, too

And burned the houses down

The cops arrested them and said,

“Now, fellas, looky here.

You’s vandals, and you’s goin’ to jail

For more’n fifty year.”

Now Monkeyface and Stink Eye Ralph

Both share a tiny cell

And count the hairs on each other’s butts

Which is prob’ly just as well.

I Have a Crush on Radiation

I have a crush on radiation

Because Little Boy hit me

In the Hiroshima of my dreams

And my skin felt the dark heat

And itched and prickled hard.

Imagine the mushroom cloud

Exploding hotels and their bellmen

I broke out in a rash of thorns

And ran from the city, crying

That I would like a blackberry tart

I found a buffet

And heard the cackle of Death

“You’ll have Cancer!” he said

And my cells, like frightened oysters

Shook in their membranes and cried.

Shh, little darlings, I whispered

I am your Sweet Mother

And if we’re to have Cancer

We shall go and live in the woods

And let our feet dangle in streams

Genesis

1. In the beginning, God’s mama created split pea soup and told Him to eat it because she slaved for an hour over a hot stove to fix Him a meal of proper nutrition and He’d better not be ungrateful.

2. And the soup was without flavor, and had a nasty texture, and a scowl was on the face of God. And He stirred His spoon reluctantly in the mush.

3. And God’s mama said, Take a bite: and God took a bite.

4. And God said, "Blech."

5. And God’s mama said, “You won't leave this table 'til you eat that soup!"

6. And God said, “If I eat all my soup, does it mean I don’t have to take a bath?”

7. And God’s mama said, “No, Sir, you are filthy and I’m your mama, and those two together mean you’ll be taking a bath!”

8. And God grumbled, but He ate His soup and got in the stupid bathtub.
9. Only, He refused to wash His hair.

10. And God’s mama said, “Young man, I'm going to get the sheets out of the dryer, and in the meantime, wash your darn hair or I'll show you what-for!"

11. And God had a staring contest with a rubber ducky instead.

12. And after two minutes, the rubber ducky blinked, because if anyone can out-stare a bath toy, God can.

13. And God poured His mama’s expensive shampoo into the running water and it brought forth bubbles, and God saw that it was good.

14. And God’s mama said, “Young man, you’ve just earned yourself a smarting keister!”

15. And how God's keister did smart!

16. And to make things worse, the cat knocked over God’s favorite dinosaur nightlight and busted it!

17. And God’s mama said, “Well, you’ll just have to make do with those silly glow-in-the-dark stars.”

18. And God climbed in bed and stared up at the silly glow-in-the-dark stars that He had bought with His allowance and pasted on His ceiling, and He smiled.

19. And God smelled His freshly washed pillowcase and it smelled good, and He was for a moment grateful He had a mama who washed his pillowcases, even if she did smack His keister over some dumb shampoo.

20. And God closed His eyelids and started to snore.

21. And while He snored, God dreamt He created the waters and the firmament, and every beast of the earth, and every fowl of the air, and every thing that creepeth upon the earth, and every green herb, and the sun and the moon and the stars and Adam and Eve.

22. And in the morning, God’s mama woke Him up, and God said, “Mama, I'm God, the Creator!” and His mama said, “Well, don't you go around thinking that makes you better'n the rest of us, and you'd better hurry up and eat your breakfast, ‘cause I won’t have you missin’ the bus.”

The Wind

Out near the Baskett Slough, the wind makes waves across the wheat fields. It's a heavy wind--whoosh--it could rip your mind from its roots. Is the writer drinking wine inside her hilltop trailer? Does the wine go to her mind, does it whine? The trailer shakes, the wind has muscles thick as snakes. The wind gets drunker and drunker on its own strength. The trailer is creaking and snapping thanks to the wind's whooshing and the undulating wheat fields with their quiet swooshing make the world seem alluring, the potatoes need mushing. The writer calls them mushed not mashed because she wishes they were mushed, dash it! She shovels them into her mouth bland with her left or right hand. The writer is the only stillness in this wind wilderness, except the crick-cracking of her stiff neck. The wind was wild when time began and will be wild 'til time eats its own tail. You can't see, but a fat gopher snake in the grass waits and smacks his lips for a titmouse treat. The hawk in the air has the wind as his cradle; it rocks him soft; he thanks his wings. The wind is the world's wine and has made the wheat grass tipsy, see how it sways.

Befuddled Puddle Huddle

It was cold, so everyone huddled together

Mumbling about the unbearable weather

“I wish it were warmer!” they whined. “We miss sweat!”

“And furthermore, why are our feet soaking wet?”

Then a man came along and informed the cold huddle:

“You’re wet ‘cause you’re standing inside of a puddle!”

The huddlers continued to mumble and frown

The man said, “It’s true! It’s a puddle! Look down!”

But the huddlers were huddled quite tight; chin to chin

They couldn’t look down to see what they were in

And so they continued to whine and to fret

And wonder why all of their feet were so wet

The man said, “Unhuddle, and then you will see!”

But the huddlers said, “No! We’re as cold as can be.”

And so they kept standing, confused, in their puddle.

 Some people just don’t like to be un-befuddled.

sikorsky

sikorsky is a military helicopter company
that has hired two giggly twins

one of the twins gets nervous
about hot oil in the frying pan

the other is afraid to say a word
to blatant litterbugs
and right-wing blabbermouths

a colleague twice her age comes up behind her
and whispers,
"when you smile, the whole world smiles"

creepy

Three Heads

     There once lived a little boy who had three heads. He could switch heads as often as he pleased, and just as easily as if they were wigs.
     The first head was as teeny-tiny as a chestnut and bald and its mouth was so small that it could only fit one grain of rice at a time. This was what he called his “Mini-Head.”

     The second head was a regular sized boy head, with freckles across the nose, brown eyes, brown hair, and a mouth big enough for a heaping spoonful of rice at a time. The only problem with this head was its cheeks, which were so chubby and pink that middle-aged women pinched them at least three times a month. This was the little boy’s cross to bear. He called this head his “Cheeky Head.”

     The third head was one the boy called “Mega Head” because it was the size of a watermelon. A whole pot of rice could fit in the mouth, and the eyes were bright blue and all across the face were freckles as big as bottle caps. The hair was blonde and wild and feathery like the tail of a big happy dog, and the ears were huge and stick-outy and gave the boy excellent hearing. Being so large and disproportionate, this particular head often threw the boy off balance. He had to work hard to keep it from tilting to one side or the other, and the effort gave him neck aches.

     It seems fairly obvious that the boy wore the second head most regularly, as it was the most proportionate. Well, I can verify this fact—Cheeky Head was the only head the little boy ever wore in public. But what did he do as soon as he got home from school and shut the door to his room? I’ll tell you— he put on Mini Head! And he kissed and he kissed and he kissed. Indeed, it was quite serendipitous that he owned such a microcephalic prosthetic, because without Mini Head’s tiny lips the boy never could have kissed his girlfriend Lucy, who was an adorable little striped snail. So it turned out that Mini Head was the boy’s favorite head of all! And you might wonder—did the boy ever wear Mega Head despite its clumsy and unnatural size? Yes, but he only wore it when he was mad at Lucy and wanted to show that he wouldn’t kiss her. With Mega Head, the boy’s lips were bigger than Lucy’s entire body, and a kiss would smash her. So Lucy felt very small in the presence of this unkissable head. She was only a snail, and had no alternate heads of her own. This was her cross to bear.

Liza Greech, the Lonely Leech

Liza Greech, the lonely leech
Was ugly as a rotten peach
She lived in water thick as mud
And sucked on slug and insect blood
She couldn’t help but be this way
And had no friends with whom to play
‘Cause when she asked to join their games
They cried, “No way! You’ll drain our veins!”
This made her sad—she cried and cried
She longed for someone by her side
She sobbed aloud, “What can I do
To have some friends? Just one or two?”
A helpful bird said, “Change your diet!
“Then I’ll be your friend—just try it!”
Liza Greech said, “Golly gee!
That’s good advice! No blood for me!”
She gave up blood—ate plants instead
But then got woozy in the head
She lost her strength; she couldn’t thrive
She needed blood to stay alive
“No use,” she sighed, “Plants just aren’t right!
I need a blood-filled bug to bite!
My playmate quest is at its end.
I’ll never, ever have a friend.”
But then—just then—there came a man!
Who scooped up Liza in his hand
And put her in a small glass jar
Which then he placed inside his car
And drove as fast as he was able
To an operation table!
“Great!” the doctor said, “You’re here!”
“This boy has almost lost his ear!
We sewed it on again, it’s true—
But now it’s turning black and blue—
We can’t unplug the venous clot!
We’ll try a leech! It’s all we’ve got!”
“No, no!” the boy began to screech
“Don’t put me near that awful leech!”
The doctor said, “No time to mope!
This parasite’s your only hope!”
Poor Liza’s heart was beating wild
Could she, would she, save the child?
She shook with nervousness and fear
The doctor put her on the ear
She squeezed her eyes shut for good luck
She bit the ear, began to suck
And then, in hardly half a wink
The boy’s ear turned from blue to pink!
“Hooray!” The doctor gave a cheer
“The blood is flowing in the ear!
The chemicals in leeches’ spit
Clear up blood clots in a tick!”
At this, our Liza could have cried
A billion tears of happy pride
The boy was also filled with glee
And asked, “Can she come home with me?
I think she’d make the perfect pet!”
The doctor said, “Sure, kid! You bet!”
The boy took Liza everywhere
And from then on, they were a pair
He kept her in a box of glass
She even came with him to class!
He fed her fresh, delicious bugs
He played with her, and gave her hugs
And when he went to bed at night
He whispered to her, “Now sleep tight!”
So Liza was at last befriended…
How’d she feel then?
Bloody splendid.

THE TRUE STORY:
Bloodsucking leeches have been used for thousands of years in the field of medicine—in fact, they used to be prescribed for almost every type of sickness! Leeches gradually fell out of popularity, but made a comeback in the 1980s, thanks in part to the physician Dr. Joseph Upton, who tried to re-attach the ear of a five-year old boy from Massachusetts. Ears have hair-thin veins that are very difficult to re-connect in surgery, and not enough blood was flowing into the re-attached ear of the little boy. Knowing that enzymes in leech saliva prevent blood clotting, Dr. Upton ordered leeches to be shipped overnight to the hospital, and the next day the boy’s ear was saved. Unlike in the story of Liza Greech, the boy did not take home any of his heroic leeches as pets, but it’s still fun to imagine what would have happened if he had.

Fun with Buttons

“Mom, how do I sew on a button?” Michelle asked

So her mom got a needle and thread

“Just weave in and out through the holes,” she explained.

“Oh, I can do that!” Michelle said.

So Michelle sewed on buttons the rest of the day

And stayed up to sew through the night

But when, the next morning, she came in undressed

Her poor mother hollered with fright.

“What the heck’s on your stomach, Michelle?” she cried out

Michelle said, “It’s from Daddy’s suit.

And I don’t care whether you like it—I think

That my new bellybutton looks cute.”

Lee and Lursa

Two twins—Lee and Lursa—never cut their fingernails

They’ve been growing them long since the start

Which means Lee can scratch Lursa’s back and vice versa

Even when the two are twenty miles apart!

Grickles the Cactus

There once was a cactus named Grickles

Who was, of course, covered in prickles

I thought he would pout

When I pulled them all out

But he only said, “Goodness, that tickles!”

Heartfelt Advice

Roy wanted to beat up the bully

Who told him that he wasn’t smart

His mom said, “You’ll know what to do

If you listen to your heart.”

So Roy put on a stethoscope

“Thump thump!” his heartbeat said

“I knew you would agree!” said Roy

And thumped the bully’s head

Eye Contact

I remember once in history class

My teacher, Mrs. Joan

Said a person who looks at Medusa

Will instantly turn into stone.

I also learned, a while ago

From my neighbor, Mrs. Brind

That if you stare straight at the sun

In seconds you’ll go blind.

Then just last week at Boy Scouts

My scoutmaster, Mr. Sack

Said if you lock eyes with a Grizzly

You’ll provoke him to attack.

So then I considered Medusa,

The sun’s burning rays, and the bear

And it made sense all of a sudden

Why my mom says it’s not nice to stare.

Poor Janet Done

No man would date poor Janet Done

After she was turned to stone

Her mother said, “The problem is, Janet,

That most men tend to take you for granite.”

Not Every Pancake Looks the Same

Not every pancake looks the same

They are not always round

Not every one smells buttery

They’re not all golden brown

Some pancakes have a blackened spot

And some of them have bumps

Some pancakes are all soggy

Or have baking soda lumps

Some pancakes have crisp edges

And some pancakes shine with grease

Some pancakes can be very thin

While others are obese

Now people are like pancakes

We’re all made from the same batter

And as for what we look like, well,

It doesn’t really matter

One Slow Egg

Said the eggs’ P.E. teacher, Miss Bramble:

 “Run a mile in a minute! Don’t ramble!”

And they did it—uphill!

Except one slow egg, Bill,

Who was so far behind that he scrambled.